


Integration Part III

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [28]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How drunk should I be for this conversation?”</p><p>"Manufactured genocidal pandemic.”</p><p>“No, I was not yet inebriated enough for that statement.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Integration Part III

**Author's Note:**

> Today sucked. I'm updating a bit ahead of schedule because today needs to end with things that do NOT suck.
> 
> Betabetabeta: TY to MerryAmelie, Writestufflee, & Norcumi 
> 
> (Some days I just fail at summaries. Teaser dialogue works in a pinch.)

Republic Date 5201: 3/28th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

“Are you ready, Anakin?”

Anakin realized he was pressing his lips together so hard that it was making his face hurt, and forced himself to stop. “Uh—it’s okay if I say I’m not, right?”

“It is,” Qui-Gon said. His other Master was standing with his arms folded, hands tucked into his sleeves—the very image of a serene Jedi. The posture reminded Anakin of his early memories of Qui-Gon. Even though his Master’s hair held a lot less silver, he was still the same man. There was something reassuring about that, especially today.

“Okay. Good. I’m going in, anyway.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t.”

The doors opened; Qui-Gon and Rillian escorted Anakin to the center of the room, where he stood before the other assembled Councilors. It was _weird_ to be facing Master T’ra and Master Yoda instead of Master Mace, but at least the change was due to stupid politics and not because someone was dead. Mace was several seats away from Yoda, next to Yaddle, whose renewed presence on the Council just felt disturbingly normal.

Master Piell and Shaak Ti were missing, but the other nine seats were occupied. Qui-Gon sat down in Obi-Wan’s chair, and Rillian took up her post at the traditional Council Padawan leaning wall. Fe Sun wasn’t there; she and Shaak Ti were probably off-planet, but the other two Councilor’s Padawans were present.

Aayla Secura gave the Wookiee a slight nod and made room, maintaining a professional air that she must have learned from Master Tholme, because Quinlan didn’t do professional. He always just looked grim and angry when he tried. Tuuvino nudged Rillian with his elbow and smiled at her, and then at Anakin, before doing a pretty good job of putting on a neutral expression.

It was Tuuvino’s presence that almost had him backing off of the entire thing. The kid’s eyes still brightened with delight at everything he encountered, and Anakin didn’t want to be the guy to come along and ruin it.

There was also the niggling fear that once this was done, the other Padawan would no longer be Anakin’s friend. He didn’t want that to happen; he was doing better this time, socially, but he still didn’t have a lot of close friends. Anakin considered it a minor miracle that he had such a close friend in Saini Ella, who had been nothing more than a casual acquaintance the first time around.

_No. Get rid of all of that. Right now is not the time for panic, or for fear._

Anakin took a deep breath, and let all of those annoying doubts go out with a long exhale.

Master T’ra smiled at Anakin, and then called the Council to order in a gentle, firm voice. “Is there anyone else you wish to have present?” she asked him.

“My Master should be calling in at any moment,” Anakin said, and was grateful when he saw approval instead of dismay. “And…uh…” _Fuck,_ he thought in a distant sort of way. “The Reconciliation Council.”

Anakin could tell by Yoda’s raised ear that nobody had expected him to ask for that. “A moment, that will be,” Yoda said, his clawed hand tapping on the inset panel of his chair. “Only two need join us, to have both Councils present.”

“I warned Master Micah, so he should be available,” Anakin mentioned, trying to be helpful. Yoda nodded, so Anakin went back to waiting. He was supposed to be Knight-trained, and still he was hard-pressed not to spend the entire time tapping his toes, or drumming his fingers on his leggings. He could feel Force threads of conversation, hear faint whispers of Councilors and Padawans speaking together, but he stayed put and stayed quiet.

Master Micah and Master MonMassa came in together. Micah seemed curious, but MonMassa had a scowl on her face that reminded Anakin of why she was the Master of Shadows.

“Is Kenobi linked in yet?” MonMassa asked T’ra.

“Just now,” T’ra confirmed. “Audio only.”

“That’s fine,” MonMassa said, and then she said in a harsh voice, “I would like it _very much_ if you would stop setting fire to my facility!”

“It adds character,” Venge returned, his voice dry and unconcerned. Anakin saw Master Qui-Gon suppress a smile and had to hide a grin of his own. “There was nothing in those crates, anyway.”

“As amusing as I find this—and I really do,” Master Adi said, her eyes alight with humor. “We are not here to berate Knight Kenobi for minor property damage. We are here because Padawan Skywalker has a grave thing to share with us.”

Anakin swallowed down a bad case of nerves as he became the focus of thirteen very interested pairs of eyes. He’d tried to figure out how to begin in some way that sounded professional, but in the end, he just plowed in.

“A couple of months ago, I started doing genealogy and family research on my mother’s behalf,” Anakin said. “For those of you who might not know, she’s from one of the Mid-Rim trading caravans that used to cover the Hashi region and the Falcori Way. When she was four, the convoy got jumped by pirates, and my mother was one of the survivors sold into slavery. There were others that got the same treatment—from what I’ve learned, they were all kids, so it’s kind of doubtful that any of the adults survived.”

Anakin took a breath. Here was where it got harder. “I did some searching on Master Obi-Wan’s behalf, as well, since his mother was At’talr Clan—their group had legal right to run the Hydian Way from outermost Mid Rim into the Outer Rim. When I started getting responses from both families, almost all of them involved mention of family members dead or dying of Rhen’s Disease.”

Yoda gave him a brief nod, signaling that the Council did indeed consider this worthy of their collective time. There was no hint of humor left in Master Adi’s eyes. “Go on, Anakin,” she encouraged him.

“One mention of Rhen’s would be normal. But…there was a lot. I started looking into the Rhen’s Disease mortality rates just by trading group—which is _not_ easy. There’s the At’talr, who got scattered almost eleven years ago by unknown means. There’s the Kay’dal, the Yellowstars, the Brin Wir, the Q’in-dah-lal, the Sunrunners, the Walkers of the Sky—”

“That would be your clan, yes?” Mace asked.

“Yeah, there’s not two different Skywalkers out there,” Anakin said, giving the Master a brief smile. “It’s Walkers of the Sky if you’re talking about the clan as a whole, but Skywalker for individuals. That’s kind of the point I’m getting at: There are _so many_ variations on names for the clans. Tracking down actual, useful information required months of work and an astromech droid who happens to be really good at…uh…database sorting.”

“Database sorting,” Ki-Adi Mundi repeated. He had one eyebrow raised in polite query.

“He’s well-behaved and he doesn’t access the Temple database without permission,” Anakin blurted out R2-D2’s defense. The last thing he needed was Artoo trying to ditch a Temple restraining bolt.

Ki-Adi Mundi chuckled. “No, I understand. He sounds like a useful companion to have. Please continue.”

“Anyway. Once we actually had the data, the listed mortality rate for the clans as a whole is through the roof. What I mean is, the trading clans have averaged the highest mortality rate in the Republic for the last one hundred years.”

“By Rhen’s Disease?” Yaddle asked.

“For the most part,” Anakin answered. “When it’s not Rhen’s Disease, it’s something else. Mom’s caravan was done in by pirates; the survivors started coming down with Rhen’s about twenty years after that. The ships of the At’talr convoy disappeared during the off-season, just as everyone was starting to come together from their individual planetary retreats, but cases of Rhen’s had already been turning up. It’s still affecting the survivors at about a one-in-five rate. The Sunrunners never reported cases of Rhen’s, but they just flat-out _vanished_ five years ago, and nobody has a clue what happened to them. The Vo Bay-Ya were decimated by Rhen’s Disease to the extent that there’s only six of them left that anyone can find, and they’re all sterile because they had parents with Rhen’s. About seventy-five percent of the surviving Ka-Daa and Starseer groups have Rhen’s, or they’re sterile because of it.

“Basically, all of the trading clans that submit information to Republic databases have reported pandemic level instances of Rhen’s Disease, and nobody’s noticed.”

T’ra Saa looked appalled. “It sounds as if you have uncovered the quietest pandemic the galaxy has ever seen, and I fear that is not all you have to tell us.”

Anakin nodded. “Unless you’re focusing your attention on the trading clans, the instances of Rhen’s Disease look scattered. It’s part of the reason why medical researchers don’t seem to know what to do with it—they think it’s random, or environmental, and of course no one’s throwing a lot of money into researching what looks to be a rare disease, so it hasn’t gotten a lot of focus. The creepy part is that once the information is all in one place, it’s easy to see that _no one_ outside of the trading clans have come down with Rhen’s.”

Both of Yoda’s ears went up. Master Mace’s voice was sharp. “You’re certain of this?”

“As I can be,” Anakin admitted. “Some of the information came from correspondence only. The clans are so mobile that a lot of them never bother to report in to the Republic even when they’re in Republic space.”

“That cannot be correct. I know that we have Jedi in our ranks who are suffering from Rhen’s Disease,” Eeth Koth said, frowning.

Anakin shook his head. “But that’s the thing—those Jedi are _all_ trader folk. I already checked with the Healers—with respect to everyone’s privacy—and it’s not just direct Rhen’s. Eighty percent of Jedi in the Order who came from trader stock are sterile.”

Saesee Tiin’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits. “You are not speaking of a pandemic,” he growled. “You are talking of _genocide._ ”

Anakin shifted from one foot to the other. It was kind of unnerving to have the Iktotchi Master’s ire directed at him. “Yes. I am. I thought at first that it was just Rhen’s being used as a tool against the clans to free up the trade routes for takeover, but Master Obi-Wan thinks that Rhen’s Disease is an artificially created disease that was specifically designed to target the clans, probably by making sure it only recognized certain genetic markers.”

“Targeted for takeover.” Adi Gallia frowned. “By the Trade Federation, you mean.”

“There is _nothing_ I’ve found that says they’re responsible,” Anakin said in complete honesty. “I don’t like the Trade Federation, but there’s no evidence linking them to this…except for the fact that they took over _every_ trade route that used to be held by the trading clans.”

“Thus solidifying their monopoly over the Mid and Outer Rim,” Ki-Adi Mundi said. He crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It could be a terrible coincidence. The Federation is known for taking full advantage of any perceived weakness in order to achieve financial success.”

“Well, the only reason they haven’t gobbled up the Inner Rim and Core routes is because those are controlled by large shipping companies,” Anakin replied. He didn’t think it would be out of place to add, “Someone would miss those companies, if they suddenly went under and the Trade Federation replaced them. They’re worth a lot of money.”

“Whereas these family clans would have been easy targets due to their mobility and independence,” Master T’ra finished. “Dear gods of the earth. If a treatment plan was put in place now, could the trend be reversed?”

“Well, I don’t think the trade routes are going to be returned to the families short of a complete dismantling of the entire Trade Federation,” Anakin said in a blunt voice. “Maybe a lot of well-placed explosives, too.”

“Anakin,” Venge said in a warning tone.

“Figurative! I mean figurative explosions,” Anakin huffed, and then sobered again. “People like my mother got lucky. She doesn’t have Rhen’s, so at least the Skywalker line might continue through my sister and me, _if_ we don’t catch it in the meantime. Nobody knows how Rhen’s is even contracted in the first place. But it’s not just about depopulating the clans, and that’s part of the reason why I don’t think the Trade Federation had anything to do with Rhen’s.”

“Tell us, Padawan,” Yaddle said in a quiet voice, as if sensing his hesitation.

“Before Rhen’s Disease turned up, the trading clan groups as a whole regularly contributed to ten percent of the Jedi Order’s total population,” Anakin said, feeling queasy just saying the words aloud. “It was that way for at least fifteen hundred years, but now it’s dropped to less than one percent.”

That stirred everyone up as concern turned to shock. “Aware of that, no one was,” Yoda said, his ears lowering until they almost touched his shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s one of those weird things you just don’t see unless you’re looking for it.” Anakin’s shoulders twitched as he resisted the urge to shrug in response. It would look too much like disrespect. “The clans have always had a strong tendency towards producing Force-sensitive kids, and they were the biggest humanoid base for Temple applicants.”

Anakin waited while the Council conversed among themselves, exchanging pointed looks, whispers, and the occasional strong, projected thought. Master T’ra turned her attention back towards him a lot sooner than he expected.

“Master Qui-Gon tells us that you did the vast majority of this research by yourself,” she said. “Even for someone in your unique situation, this is…this is a great deal of information, and it is laced with dark possibility.”

“What my Master is getting at is that you didn’t have to do this on your own,” Mace said, giving T’ra a look that managed to convey fond amusement without any hint of humor on his face.

Anakin bit his lip. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Tuuvino, we must get started on dealing with this right away. I want you to go down to the Healers and tell them to pull their records for the last two hundred years on any trade-affiliated Jedi that has ever been part of our ranks. The Council authorization will be waiting for you when you arrive in the Ward.”

Tuuvino’s eyes went huge. “Er…yes, Master,” he replied in a faint voice, and then coughed and tried again. “Yes, Master. I’ll go see to it right away.” He left the room in a fast walk.

Anakin wasn’t sure if he was grateful or annoyed. “You did that on purpose,” he said, after the double doors had resealed.

“Of course I did.” Mace leaned back in his chair. “I think I understand what you need to say to us, Padawan Skywalker. I see no need for further suffering on either side.”

“Thanks,” Anakin whispered, and looked up at the ceiling to gather himself. He didn’t want to talk about this, not _ever_ , but if he walked away now, then he was the coward that Venge had named him.

“I once murdered an entire clan of Tusken Raiders in a fit of grief-fueled rage,” Anakin said, and was glad that his voice only wobbled on the second word. “I’d like to be able to say that it was Vader, but it wasn’t. It was me.”

It wasn’t new information for those Jedi who’d been on Naboo, but that had been second-hand learning. This was different; this was Anakin himself saying the words.

“I have been granted a summary by those involved in the Sharing performed by Knight Kenobi, but I would like it very much if you would tell us more,” MonMassa said. She didn’t look grim, not like Master Mace, but Anakin could see the strength of her, and it almost made him quail.

Then Master Adi said, in a gentle voice, “It’s all right, Anakin.”

Anakin told them how he’d been—in that other-when—a twenty-year-old Padawan. His senior status still had a shine to it when he began dreaming of his mother. The dreams seemed fine, at first, and Anakin had been rapt and overjoyed at these glimpses of her daily life. Shmi was happy, surrounded by hints of people who made her smile, who cared for her. He never saw Watto, which was as odd as it was a relief.

“I talked about the dreams with Obi-Wan, but we were so damned busy. He said that if nothing was wrong, it was best not to look for trouble where none existed. At that point, I’d been dreaming of her for almost four months, so it seemed like good advice.” Anakin was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the faint, derisive snort from the comm speaker.

Anakin gave a brief description of the events surrounding their assignment to protect Senator Padmé Amidala. “It does please me that a potential Jedi student earned such esteem among her people that they would grant her that position,” T’ra said in a thoughtful voice.

“Padmé Naberrie could have run for the Senate seat at the beginning of the year, and Horace Vancil wouldn’t have had a chance,” Mace pointed out. “The only stumbling block for her would have been the humanoid age requirement.”

“She’s really…er…staunch, about what she believes in,” Anakin said. It wasn’t quite the right word, but close enough. “By her second year in office, bounty hunters were blowing things up and trying to kill her for standing against the Military Creation Act.”

“Just what the Republic does not need.” Plo Koon sounded irritated. “I now like Amidala more than I already did. You’ve picked well, Master Yoda.” Yoda blinked twice and looked smug.

“Did Palpatine introduce this Military Creation Act?” Ki-Adi Mundi asked.

“No, that was…was…uhm…” Anakin trailed off. “Dammit.”

“Carida’s Senator, Niells Rutu,” Venge supplied. “Among various other supporters. Palpatine ostensibly had little to do with the Act’s creation, but given the situation at the time, I doubt he would have had to push very hard for someone to take the idea and run with it.”

“Thus, we will be paying careful attention to Senator Rutu’s future endeavors,” Eeth Koth said. “Our apologies, Padawan. I realize we keep interrupting you with our questions, but some blanks need to be filled in.”

“No, that’s okay,” Anakin said, and had to swallow when gratitude and anxiety combined to form a knot in his throat.   “Thank you, Master.” He gave a brief description of the assassination attempt that happened the very first evening of their assignment.

“Kenobi jumped out the window.” MonMassa sighed in resignation. “Of course he did.”

Anakin couldn’t resist. “Everyone always assumed that I was the crazy one, but really, it was all him.”

“Bothawui, Padawan,” Venge said in a too-sweet voice.

“You said we weren’t gonna talk about that,” Anakin said, feeling his eyebrows rise. “Y’know…ever.”

“I am capable of changing my mind.”

“Need to know about that, we do not.” Yoda’s cough sounded far too much like a restrained cackle. “Padawan, your tale you should resume.”

Anakin nodded, and told them about how guarding the Naboo Senator became his first solo assignment. He realized he was going to have to go into a lot more detail about his feelings for Padmé…and his stomach promptly decided to turn into a second, larger knot.

“Wait.” T’ra Saa looked puzzled. “Padawan, you were _twenty Standard._ Knight Kenobi, what—”

“I was not allowed to make the call,” Venge all but snarled back. “And when the time finally came, the Council of our time gave my Padawan the worst possible first assignment.”

“Okay, to be fair?” Anakin raised his hand. “We think, in retrospect, that it was the Sith veil over Coruscant screwing up perspectives, so dumb choices that would benefit the Sith wound up superseding choices that would be best for me, or for the Order, or the Republic.”

“The point is acknowledged,” Master T’ra said, but she didn’t look pleased. “Why was it not an ideal first assignment, Padawan?”

Anakin was glad she was asking him, and not Venge. Anakin’s Master was probably looking for something to bite, or blow up. If Obi-Wan was angry about the other-when Council’s nonsensical interference in Anakin’s training, then Venge was _furious._

“I had…issues, dealing with the Jedi idea of attachment,” Anakin said, trying to figure out how to explain. “No, wait, let me back way up. I first met Padmé Naberrie when I was nine, on Tatooine, at the same time that I first met him,” he said, tilting his head in Qui-Gon’s direction. “I told her I was going to marry her one day. I saw it, plain as the suns in the sky, and it was the most amazing thing—but also…it was just so normal.”

“Lifebond potential?” Plo Koon looked in Qui-Gon’s direction; Qui-Gon nodded once in confirmation.

“I must ask what you mean, Padawan,” Yaddle spoke up from behind him. “What was your trouble with understanding attachment?”

“I heard the lectures, and ostensibly, I understood it, but—” Anakin frowned. “Okay, so…Obi-Wan had this thing where he was trying to be what I needed, which was a teacher and a friend—someone actually close, probably closer than is judged appropriate for Master-Padawan relationships. Not _sexual_ or anything like that,” he said, when Eeth Koth gave him a pointed look. “Geeze, not even remotely like that. I mean, he recognized that I needed some form of close attachment, because I’d been anchored by that kind of relationship for my entire life up until that point. It was what was normal for me. But, he was also trying to be a proper Jedi. Keeping to both was…” Anakin bit his lip. “From my perspective, it was like he blew hot and cold, and I didn’t understand that at all. It probably didn’t help that I was friends with Chancellor Palpatine.”

“Ah.” Master T’ra was nodding. “I imagine he excelled in reassurance, but his words left you doubting your Master, and us.”

“It was…yeah, it was pretty much just like that, Master T’ra,” Anakin decided, after a moment’s deliberation. “So, when I saw Padmé again at age twenty, I sort of…uh...latched on like an octopus, even if I didn’t quite understand why. I knew I wasn’t _supposed_ to; I was still a Padawan. When we tried to talk about it, Padmé was just as freaked out as I was. She had plans, and ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t really on the list. Still, I—I needed her. I know that sounds weak, and maybe it was, but even when we tried to avoid an actual relationship, she never swung back and forth over how she related to me. That kind of consistency in someone I felt close to, it was…it was nice.”

“Then the dreams changed.” Anakin described seeing his mother in pain, his mother dying, his mother screaming—he knew something terrible was happening. It had been Padmé who insisted that they would go to Tatooine together, even though he’d been willing to abandon his duty to go alone.

“As a senior Padawan, such thoughts of abandoning your assigned mission should have been troublesome, at the very least,” Ki-Adi Mundi said. His voice had a measured tone that spoke of testing Anakin’s reasoning, or his resolve.

“They _were._ ” Anakin took a careful breath. Speaking of that time had stirred up every bit of those nerve-wracking, conflicting emotions. He had hated himself, hated abandoning Padmé, but he couldn’t leave anyone to suffer—especially his mother. “I was feeling overwhelmed, and had no one to discuss the dreams with. Whenever I had dreams like those, when they were that intense, they _always_ came true. Obi-Wan was the only Jedi who believed me, but…but he wasn’t there.”

“Not a one of us, young Skywalker?” Yoda looked sad, the tips of his ears drooping low again.

Anakin shook his head, feeling guilty. “No, Master. Not even you. True-seeings are supposed to be rare, and everyone else insisted that I couldn’t be averaging so many.”

“How many?” Master Micah wanted to know.

Anakin thought about it. “About once or twice a year, when I was a kid—about the same as now. Several times a year, after I started training as a Jedi. By the time I was an adult, at least once a month. Most of them were…you know, inconsequential things. Then the big ones would hit, and they were _always_ big things.”

Micah rubbed at his jaw. Anakin noticed how tired he looked, and felt awful for him. Tahl was trying to stay optimistic, but her temper was flaring more often than not from the medical confinement. Neither of his friends were having the best time.

“Where were you at that point, Obi-Wan?” Adi asked, glancing upwards as if instinctively searching for a visual to direct her question towards.

“In an asteroid field, being shot at,” Venge replied in a terse voice. “Comm silent. I would not have been available even if he had dared to call.”

Anakin waited for a few seconds. When no more questions were forthcoming, he resumed his tale: finding out that his mother had married a local moisture farmer; that she’d been kidnapped weeks ago during a Tusken raid; that his stepfather had already lost a leg in an attempt to save Shmi Skywalker-Lars. Anakin had spent the evening seeking out their camp, and when he found it…

“The camp, the Tuskens—they had been torturing her the entire time. They literally tortured her to death. She died. I held her, and she was dying.” Anakin’s throat felt thick; his voice cracked, his eyes burned. “It was the first time I’d seen her in ten years, and she _died_.”

Sparks of luminescence danced in the air around him, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He heard Venge say something, a name that wasn’t his. Then he was being enveloped by strong arms, covered and sheltered by a soft cloak.

“It’s all right,” Qui-Gon said, and Anakin buried his face into soft warm tunics and cried his damned eyes out.

He’d grieved before—he remembered it—but it had all been tainted by anger. As horrible as it was to think it, this felt…better. It felt like he was sad and angry for the right reasons, and maybe one day he’d be able to let it all go.

No one said anything, or made Anakin feel like he was behaving inappropriately. That helped, too, and when the tears began to dry up, he felt kilos lighter.

Anakin didn’t wait for anyone to invite him to continue. He did that on his own, with his nose swollen and his face still wet. Qui-Gon stayed with him, an unobtrusive but welcome presence at his back. Micah seized the opportunity and stole Qui-Gon’s chair.

“Master Yoda asked me about it, later. I guess I was really loud, because he could sense something wrong all the way back on Coruscant. I thought he was going to accuse me of being angry—which I was—but instead he told me that he’d sensed that I was in terrible pain. I’m not mentioning that, or the torture, to excuse anything. It’s just that it might explain more about the situation to you all than I’ve got the words for.

“The other Tusken tribes in the area called it the Dark Night of the Children of _set Ka_ ,” Anakin said. Grief had left him, and anger, and all that was left was a dull ache. “Because I…because I wiped them out. The entire bloodline of the _set Ka_ tribe.”

He knew Master Mace understood, but still the man’s tone was stern and clipped when he asked, “Did you regret it?”

Anakin had to shake his head. “No. Not then. I was still too upset, too angry. It’s why Sidious was able to consider it my Sacrifice. I…I think maybe I would have regretted it, if there had been time to really deal with it, but then the war started. I did try to talk to Obi-Wan about it once, a couple of months later, but I couldn’t. I don’t remember enough of that day to be able to guess if it was because of Sidious, or if I was just choking on the words.”

“You have been avoiding the consequences of your actions for a long time, Padawan,” Master T’ra said. She was giving him a level stare that was intense enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Why unburden yourself now?”

“Why not?” Anakin countered, and then sighed. “Look, I can’t exactly do something about the actual event, can I? They’re gone and it’s done, but they’re also still alive, and it’s undone. I need to deal with this because it’s what I should have done the first time, and because…because if I don’t come to terms with this, if I don’t _face_ this, then I don’t deserve the chance that Obi-Wan gave me.”

“Ah,” Yaddle said in a tone that was as soft as it was deceptive. Now he was hearing her testing voice. Anakin’s shoulders went tight in anticipation. “So, this is a form of restitution you are making, by puzzling out the predicament of these Mid-Rim families on your own.”

That wasn’t nearly as harsh as Anakin had expected. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I mean—nobody deserves to be wiped out. Not the _set Ka_ , not the trading clans— _nobody_. Even Vader thought that eliminating entire planets and civilizations was a stupid idea, and he’s a thing that Sidious created to carry out genocide in the first place.”

Anakin took a breath, trying to get his back muscles to relax and stop screaming at him. “Rhen’s Disease probably wiped out all of the trading clans in our other-when, because nobody ever looked into it. No one ever saw the problem. If I can help to stop this, then at least that’s me doing _something._ ”

“Well spoken, Padawan,” Yoda said. His eyes were at half-mast, his ears upright to signify his approval.

“That’s the second time I have heard it directly stated that the Sith Lord Vader was a construct,” Saesee Tiin said. Anakin was going to congratulate himself on inciting the Iktotchi Master into speaking more than once in a Council session when Saesee continued with, “Is the Venge persona the same thing, some cobbled together creation of Darth Sidious?”

“I _resent_ that,” Venge said in an acid-laced growl.

“Yeah, totally.” Anakin gave the Councilor a bewildered look. “I mean, I get the thought process behind it, but it’s not the same thing at all.”

“Then, please.” Master Tiin gestured with his hand. “Enlighten me, Padawan.”

Anakin bristled, and had to work to keep his voice even. “Venge isn’t like Vader. Vader was broken bits of me, shaped into what Sidious wanted in an apprentice. Venge is what happens when you take a person and push them past every single breaking point they have, and then a whole bunch of points they didn’t even know about. Just when you think they should be shattered, they look up at you, and they _laugh_ and tell you to keep pushing. That’s Venge.”

There was a tense moment of silence, during which Anakin held his breath in case something exploded. Then Micah said, “What Padawan Skywalker means, Saesee, is that Qui-Gon Jinn married a crazy person.”

Saesee Tiin glowered at Micah. Adi made a sputtering noise that sounded like a badly restrained giggle.

 _I was already well aware of that,_ Qui-Gon sent, to Anakin’s further amusement.

“Micah Giett, you do not even have a leg to stand on,” Venge replied.

Micah grinned, and then his brow wrinkled. “Wait, is that a pun or a threat? I can’t tell.”

“Before this deteriorates any further…” Master T’ra waited a beat. “Padawan Skywalker, you may depart with Padawan Secura and Padawan Raallandirr. Go and do what you feel you must to recover from what has no doubt been a draining session. The Council needs to speak further about the matters you have brought before us.”

“Uh—yes, Master,” Anakin said, managing a shaky bow. The sudden dismissal was confusing, but it didn’t feel like impending doom. “Thank you, Masters.”

Qui-Gon dropped a reassuring hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and then nudged him in the direction of the doors. Rillian and Aayla joined him; the moment the doors sealed behind them, Anakin let out a deep sigh.

[That wasn’t so bad,] Rillian howled in a contemplative tone.

“Not at all. Cheer up, Skywalker,” Aayla said, giving him a faint, quirked smile. “We already knew you were a nutcase because of the Sharing.”

Anakin managed a smile. Yes, okay, he had been sort of terrified that confessing one of his biggest sins was going to get him drummed out of the Order. It’s what the old, crotchety other-when Council would have done.

“Let’s go see if the commissary has the tea-flavored frozen custard,” he said. “I feel like eating something that’s really bad for me, and watching some truly awful HoloNet programming.” Anakin perked up. “Maybe they’re broadcasting those long distance Jedi-type obstacle course challenges that only non-Jedi can compete in.” Those were fun to watch. It was always neat to see some of the most unlikely beings breeze their way through, while the musclebound often failed.

Aayla let out a dreamy sigh. “Blessed indulgence, thy name is sweetened dairy and watching people trip over their own appendages.”

Rillian was chuckling. [Or we could actually go run our own insane obstacle courses.]

“Laziness first,” Anakin decided, and Rillian barked cheerful acceptance. They walked to the turbolift in a tight cluster. Aayla had her arm slung over Anakin’s shoulders, and Rillian held Anakin’s hand in a gentle, soothing grip.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“That was not quite what I had expected of the day,” MonMassa said, after the Padawans had gone.

“Nor I.” Yaddle looked sad. “What a terrible burden to bear.”

Qui-Gon put his hand down on the back of his chair, which was still being claimed by Micah. Yoda was sitting with his eyes closed, observing the eddies in the Force. “Master?”

Yoda opened his eyes. One ear dipped low, while the other rose up a few centimeters. “Hmm,” he grunted, noncommittal.

T’ra seemed to take Yoda’s reluctance as the cue to speak. “What do you think, Knight Kenobi?”

Venge sounded surprised by the direct query. “Honestly?”

“That is what I asked for, yes,” T’ra returned in a wry voice.

“If it were not for the limitations of his age, I would officially name Anakin a senior Padawan again.”

T’ra gave a slow nod, one that was gradually mirrored by every single member of the Council. “So would I. What does the Reconciliation Council say, Boda?”

“The situation is unusual,” MonMassa said. “If he had come to us speaking only of the Tusken slaughter, it would become our job to come up with a suitable act of reparation, and the feasibility of such a thing is complicated by Padawan Skywalker’s circumstances. Even knowing as much of the situation as I do, I would find it difficult to mete out a proper penance for a killing that has now never happened. However, I believe he managed to find suitable reparation all on his own. I am in agreement with you, Master T’ra.” She smiled. “If all our wayward Jedi put such effort into bettering themselves after fucking up so badly, my job would be much easier.”

Qui-Gon lifted his head. That had gone far better than he had quite dared to hope for. Even as recently as a year ago, Anakin’s confession might have gained him nothing more than imprisonment, dismissal from the Order, or both. Qui-Gon suspected a great deal of the antagonism would have been created and influenced by that damned Sith veil.

“When would it be realistic to grant him senior status, given his biological constraints?” T’ra asked.

“Healer Terza estimates he should be thirteen, at the earliest,” Venge said.

“That gives us a little over a year and a half to see what progress he makes, physically,” Qui-Gon added. For anyone else, it would be very little time to prepare, but Venge was correct—Anakin was ready _now_.

“Good. I look forward to seeing what Anakin Skywalker can do when he has full control of all his faculties.” T’ra took everyone’s silence for agreement, and went on. “Do we have the resources to combat the pandemic that Padawan Skywalker has described?”

Mace sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. “Not directly, Master. The kind of public education campaign that would be needed is beyond our means to carry out without direct assistance from the various medical agencies inside and outside Republic borders. We don’t even know how Rhen’s Disease is spread.”

“We would have to perform reverse-quarantine,” Ki-Adi Mundi said, looking troubled. “If this theory about Rhen’s recognition of specific genetic markers is correct, then it isn’t the rest of the galaxy that would be in danger from a Rhen’s carrier, but any being of trader stock that they would encounter.”

“Contact the Chancellor,” T’ra directed. “This is a problem that he must be made aware of. Valorum will be familiar with Republic protocol for suspected pandemics, and he has proven himself capable of discretion. Perhaps with his assistance, a clearer idea will emerge for constructing an appropriate plan of action.”

“In that case, I will go and see him directly,” Qui-Gon offered.

T’ra nodded. “Good. Be cautious, my friend, and alert for prying eyes and ears. I will not see the trading clans’ decimation assured by fears created by uninformed panic.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Let’s talk about anger,” Venge said.

Quinlan grimaced and sank down lower in his seat. He had a feeling he was going to wind up as another of Venge’s conscripted teaching aides for this, just as Fieff had been their consistent, demonstrative guinea pig for many of the lessons on Force Illusion.

With the constant influx of information from twice-daily sessions, a lot of the more indignant questions had ceased. The Shadows presented Venge with more probing, thoughtful insights…but they were all careful to avoid the minefield that had created the crack in the wall. Venge had repaired the damage, but Quinlan could still see it. The crack was sharp under his hands, vividly rekindled by his psychometry if he ran his bare fingertips over the metal.

“Vos, what type of anger did you use to burn through Shillanis on our first day together?”

 _Ah, the joys of being psychic,_ Quinlan thought. “I was thinking of Aayla, and what I would do to anyone who hurt her the way Sidious did you.”

“Vengeance does indeed kindle fierce anger,” Venge agreed, while Dravaco snorted at the obviousness of the word choice. “That was a bit extreme, though. Why jump straight to revenge?”

“Because if someone’s hurt her, it’s because I wasn’t there to stop it,” Quinlan replied, and had to resist the urge to grind his teeth. More and more often, the tale of the mind-wipes he and Aayla had suffered in Obi-Wan’s other-when preyed upon his mind. He had encouraged his Padawan to look beyond it; she had been successful, and he had not.

“You are going to have to back it up several dozen steps. Your anger is being colored by fear, and that is where it gets dangerous,” Venge said. “Anger can cloud your judgment, but fear will distort your perception of reality itself.”

“Is that part of what happened to Skywalker?” Gyre asked. He had sobered a lot after figuring out how to hide in the Force. Quinlan thought the Sullustan’s perceptions of the universe were still shifting to allow for this new thing, but he was handling it well. It was Grierseer who was doing the worst at processing each introduced lesson. They all knew of her difficulty, but she grimly refused to quit.

“A bit,” Venge admitted. “My Padawan struggled with his understanding of attachment for a long time as a student, because he thought it went against everything he was raised to believe. Then, when he had begun to understand the Jedi view of attachment, the war began. At some point during that time, Sidious began to plant the idea that the Padawan vows of non-attachment did not end with Knighthood. Such an idea brought forth fear: fear that he would be punished for becoming attached to his chosen mate; fear that the Jedi would ostracize him and cast him out for having a relationship; fear that his punishment would negatively affect his wife.” Venge paused. “Fear that he would lose his brother’s trust and affection.”

“Would you not have…noticed such a thing?” Fa’an ventured. “I understand that he was still your student when he wed.”

There was a terrible moment when bitter regret managed to overpower Fire’s burning rage, and then it was gone. “I was not there to notice his difficulty. The war separated us. I saw him only a handful of times in the year before his Knighting.

“Even without a Master’s direct guidance, Anakin worked to overcome those fears. When he looked to be succeeding, Sidious pushed other buttons: pride, fear of losing loved ones…jealousy.” He narrowed his eyes, which did little to reduce the caustic amber glow.

Venge picked up a clearboard marker from the desk, letting it orbit around his hand in a telekinetic display. He watched it tumble around with an almost meditative air. “Sidious is a master manipulator. This is why you must _all_ be cautious about the type of anger you choose to invoke, when it becomes necessary to save yourself from Shillanis. Protective anger works well, if you bear in mind those you wish to defend. Jedi often utilize this emotion in battle in unconscious ways, so it is not much of a leap towards conscious use. You do not want it influenced by fear, so be certain that you have mastered your attachments to your loved ones before you invoke it. _Do not_ use hatred to gain access to the Dark side of the Force.”

“My Master raised me to believe that hatred and anger were variations of the same,” Dravaco said.

“And if your Master were still alive, I would stab him in the face for burdening you with that misconception,” Venge returned, balancing the marker on the tip of his index finger. “You can be seriously fucking angry at someone, and not hate them. You can be terrified of someone, and still love them. But hate…hate takes you beyond all of those things.”

“You hate Sidious,” Skaalka growled, recognizing the emotion lurking in the burn of Venge’s eyes.

“Yes.” Venge let the marker drop, catching it in his hand. He was being careful not to look directly at any of the Shadows. “I hate him. More than is healthy, no matter what side of the Force you cling to.”

“Tell them why,” Tachi said. When Venge merely raised an eyebrow, she insisted. “It’s _important.”_

For a moment, Quinlan wondered if they were going to get a repeat of the cracking wall. Then Venge bowed his head. “I hate him because he took from me everything that I had ever held dear, and left nothing but devastation behind. In a single breath, I felt the deaths of a thousand Jedi…and in the next breath, a thousand more, and on, until only a tiny fraction of our number remained. Sidious gave power to a man who would then decide to murder billions on a whim. He turned my brother into a monster who would slay children without concern or remorse.”

Quinlan flinched when Venge crushed the clearboard marker in his hand, letting the hard plastine pieces fall to the floor. “I _despise_ Sidious for what he did to the young woman who should have been my second Padawan,” Venge whispered, “and to so many others who found no solace in crossing the gray place, because he pulled them right back to begin the horror anew.”

Venge lifted his head. His eyes were blazing gold, as fiery as the Dark energy that rippled outward, trying to twine itself around Quinlan’s shields. He tightened his defenses, refusing to cower before the raw power that Fire was forcing Venge to exude.

“Do not make the same mistake,” Venge whispered. “Be fierce in your defense, but do not hate Sidious for what he represents, or for what he may yet do. Hatred drowns you, until you forget the cause you once fought for, and discard the love of those you once held in your heart. Sidious is bad enough; do not give us yet another enemy to face.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“I’m sorry that it took so long to meet with you,” Finis said. He reached out his hand, and Qui-Gon grasped it, now that they were in Valorum’s office and away from the prying eyes of dozens of sycophants. Finis had no use for them, but such hangers-on were a side-effect of the office. “It’s good to see you again, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon glanced at the two remaining blue-robed guards. “Oh, they’re fine,” Finis said. “They’re both yours. This is Knight Gruee’t and his Padawan, To-a-tii Taneel.” Andeese Knight and human apprentice nodded in acknowledgement as their names were spoken.

“Of House Taneel?” Qui-Gon asked, grateful that their only audience would be part of Valorum’s secret Jedi guard. He knew the Chancellor’s Guard was vetted and known for their integrity, but given what information he brought, the utmost discretion was called for.

“Yes, Master,” To-a-tii replied, bobbing her head again. “I’m surprised you know of it.”

“Master Jinn was one of the Jedi representatives to review Neelanon’s petition for Republic membership, though each successive negotiation has been completed by other Jedi teams,” Finis answered her, and then waved a hand towards the chairs before his desk. “Sit, please.”

Qui-Gon did so, waiting for Valorum to settle before he spoke again. “I have to admit, I was surprised by the delay. It was a Level One request.”

Finis nodded and propped his face on his right hand, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair. He blew out a long sigh, and allowed signs of his exhaustion to slip through the mask of office. “I’m aware. This was quite literally the first opening I had in my schedule even for such a high-priority communication. I bloody well hate election years.”

For the first time in decades, Qui-Gon was caught off guard by politics. “Damn,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had forgotten the election entirely.”

“At least one of us managed to avoid it,” Finis returned dryly. “I’ve been hounded by Level One communiques almost non-stop for over a month, all of them requested by fools who want to see me serve a third term as Chancellor.”

“Their grasp of Republic law must be lacking,” Qui-Gon said. “Or has that changed in the last two months?”

Finis snorted. “They want me to accept a special petition to allow a third term due to ‘extraordinary circumstances.’”

 _Sith_ , Qui-Gon translated. “And you’ve told them…?”

“I’ve told them all, politely, to bugger off. I want nothing to do with it. I am done with this job, and someone else can have four to eight years of thankless servitude. They’re welcome to it.” Finis sighed.

“Has anyone confirmed their intention to campaign for Chancellor?”

“Oh, Yarua, of course,” Finis said.

Qui-Gon smiled. “He always does.”

Finis nodded, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “And usually plummets in popularity around the third time he loses his temper and threatens to eat or dismember his opponents. I think he keeps campaigning at this point because it’s become a tradition.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Remember what one of your high points used to be considered, during that first election? The media all but pounced upon the fact that you were the only candidate that Senator Yarua did _not_ threaten in some form.”

That earned him a tired, but genuine smile. “I’d forgotten all about that. Oh, and Ginia Ella has announced her intention to run.”

“Oh, that’s…” Qui-Gon trailed off when he couldn’t come up with an appropriate adjective. “I’ll be certain to warn her daughter,” he said instead.

Finis laughed. “Oh, yes. Padawan Ella, the poor dear. She might wish to convince her Master to take them both away from the Core for the duration.”

“Ginia Ella is a consummate politician,” Qui-Gon managed at last. It was true, if not flattering. “I thought that the election for the Chandrilan Senate seat had all but been called in Mon Mothma’s favor.”

Finis shrugged before reaching into his desk. He came back out with a half-full bottle of liquor and two small tumblers. “I don’t have to be sober for the rest of the evening. Care to join me?”

“Please,” Qui-Gon said. He was not necessarily a fan of hard alcohol, but Finis was a connoisseur who never bothered unless the quality was exceptional.

Finis served them both, and then raised his glass. “To an end to the nonsense,” he said.

“At least for you,” Qui-Gon replied, and took a careful sip as the sweet-burn of alcohol hit his nose. It was some sort of top-shelf rum, with one hell of a bite on the back end.

“And yes, Mon Mothma is…forgive the expression, but that young woman is wiping the floor with Ginia Ella within their home system. However, that won’t matter. Chandrila doesn’t hold elections until after the Chancellery bid. She’ll still be in possession of her seat, and thus eligible. Myself, I might re-accept the Lytton seat. It seems that my successor is tired of Core politics.”

“Just like the old days,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

“With far less intrigue, I hope.” Finis put down his half-empty glass. “It took six months to be cleared of the corruption charges, even after the money laundered into the family accounts was traced back to its origin.” He shook his head. “That bastard Palpatine used to look so offended on my behalf when the charges were filed, and he was the one responsible! I’m just glad I was able to help rid the Republic of a politically powerful Sith, even if we have yet to capture the man.”

Qui-Gon took another sip of the rum, and placed his glass upon Finis’s desk. “You always used to say that you wanted to be useful more than you wanted to be powerful.”

Finis gave him a pointed look. “Qui-Gon Jinn, that was the least subtle thing you have ever said to me.”

They both broke into laughter. “Fair enough,” Qui-Gon said, and sobered. “I didn’t use a Level One request just to come drink your terrible rum.”

“This terrible rum costs thirteen hundred credits a bottle,” Finis retorted, but he inclined his head. “Go ahead. What kind of crisis am I about to stare down during my last year in office?”

Qui-Gon glanced at Knight Gruee’t. “The room is clean, Master Jinn,” Gruee’t answered his unspoken question. “We tend to turn the public-record monitoring devices off if the Chancellor indicates that a meeting will be informal.”

“Good,” Qui-Gon said, and turned back to Finis. “It will have to become a formal announcement at some point soon, but not tonight. Too much rests upon our discretion.”

Finis pinched the bridge of his nose, picked up his glass, and swallowed down the rest of his rum. “How drunk should I be for this conversation?”

Qui-Gon hesitated. “Manufactured genocidal pandemic,” he said, and To-a-tii Taneel hissed in a startled breath.

Finis busied himself by pouring another glass. “No, I was not yet inebriated enough for that statement.” He settled back in his chair, holding his drink with his left hand. “Go on, then. Tell me everything.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

It was pretty much a given that the Shadows were going to crack at some point. It came after Shillanis showed back up in the commissary. It was placed at random, not in everything as it had been before—something they learned when Fieff swallowed it down via the slightly burnt roast tubers that no one else could stomach. Fieff collapsed to the floor, stymied expression frozen into place, before he pulled himself together enough to burn it off.

“Warm Bantha piss from a draft spout!” Fieff declared, when Quinlan gave him a hand up from the floor.

“Yeah, it sucks,” Quinlan agreed. “But at least you nailed the burn.”

“Why does Kenobi always put that crap in my food, first?” Fieff grumbled.

“He must like you,” Tachi said with a grin, and ducked when Fieff threw one of the contaminated tubers at her head.

The group as a whole started getting used to Shillanis, and then Skaalka learned how to turn invisible. She hadn’t quite managed true Force-hiding, but it didn’t stop her from stealing a bunch of dart sedatives from medical and embedding one in Dravaco’s ass when he wasn’t paying strict enough attention.

“Damn you, Skaal—” Dravaco went down, hanging onto his chair with one hand and refusing to give in to unconsciousness.

Skaalka laughed, which gave away her position. The Bo twins tackled her from opposite directions; the three of them fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs that was revealed by Skaalka’s broken concentration. Tachi swept in and grabbed a handful of Skaalka’s pilfered darts with a positively gleeful smile.

“Oh, fuck,” Quinlan said, feeling a broad grin stretch across his face. He turned and wrapped himself in the Force to hide, and the games began.

If things were normal, the need to create mayhem would have worn off after a couple of hours. Instead, it was sometime before dawn the next morning, and Quinlan was being stalked by Grierseer and Fa’an. The two had paired up to become a formidable team, something that he would have appreciated much more if they weren’t trying to tag him out with extreme prejudice.

“I _said_ I was sorry!” he yelled, making sure his voice bounced at least twice to mask his location. Fa’an had damn good ears.

“And I heard you,” Grierseer replied. She couldn’t do the light-bouncing yet, but she _could_ hide in the Force. It made her harder to keep track of, especially since some enterprising Shadow had blown half the lights down the central corridor. “But next time, please consider your aim and try _not_ to shoot a lady in the nipple with a dart.”

“What will it take for me to make it up to you?” Quinlan asked, trying to keep an eye out for Fa’an. She was sneaky and stealthy even by Falleen standards, and could be breathing down his neck at a moment’s notice.

A dart impacted a meter to his left, and Quinlan decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat. He ran down the hall, leaping onto the wall and continuing to run until gravity tried to pull him back down.

Tholme clotheslined him from the doorway that led into the creepy nursery. Quinlan twisted around and went sliding down the hall on his side, coming to rest face-first against durasteel.

“Bastard,” Quinlan said, the word partially muffled by the wall.

“You hid yourself well, but forgot to shield our training bond, dear former Padawan,” Tholme said in response, squatting down next to him. “Though I have to give you credit for not dropping any other form of your shielding. I still cannot see you, and wouldn’t be able to sense your location if it weren’t for the bond.”

Quinlan let his light-bending shields come down, but he didn’t reveal his presence. No need to tempt Grierseer and Fa’an. “Yeah, I know, it was sloppy.” He groaned as Tholme helped him get to his feet, feeling tired muscles protest. “I think I’m out of the game for a bit, anyway. I could really use about a gallon of caff and a second dinner.”

“Lucky for you, the Healers finally drew the line and declared the commissary another safe zone so they could eat in peace.” Tholme grinned. “Oh, and Tachi shot Master Piell.”

Quinlan snorted out a surprised laugh. “She did, huh?”

Tholme shrugged, eyes shining with feral delight. “Well, our visiting Councilor did say he wanted to join in. He managed to keep Dravaco and Kurri at bay before Tachi got the drop on him.” Tholme paused. “Literally.”

“Piell must have been so pleased,” Quinlan said, stretching his arms up over his head. Food, caff, and bed…if he could figure out a safe place to sleep. He didn’t relish the idea of waking up with a dart in his balls if Grierseer tracked him down.

“Oh, he woke up, bitched out all three of them, and then demanded lessons.” Tholme smiled. “He’s always been practical.”

Zarin Har was sleeping at one of the tables in the commissary, a pile of data chips and flimsiplast stacked in front of him. Quinlan spared the Healer a moment’s sympathy, turning off the datapad that had slipped out of the Bothan’s hand.

The only other person in the room was Dravaco, who was sitting on a tabletop, boots resting on the seat of a chair. There was a mug of still-steaming tea next to him.

“Mind if I join you?”

Dravaco blinked a few times, as if finally noticing that Quinlan was standing nearby. “Oh. No, I don’t mind. Go ahead.”

Quinlan sat down on the table next to Dravaco, cradling a hot mug of caff in his hands. The caffeine would hit like a jolt, helping him to avoid sleep and vindictive Zeltrons. “You look like a man who’s got a hell of a lot on his mind.”

“I was thinking about Nancini,” Dravaco said, and Quinlan hid a wince.

“Shit. I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s all right.” Dravaco took a drink of his cooling tea, which smelled like it had burnt from sitting in a hot warmer too long. “I still miss her. I’ll always regret our last parting.”

Quinlan tapped his finger on the handle of his mug. Dravaco seemed like he was in a talkative mood, so he ventured, “Can I ask why?”

“We had a fight.” Dravaco took another sip of his tea and made a face.

“About?”

Dravaco frowned. “Infidelity.”

“I didn’t think you guys were married,” Quinlan said.

“We weren’t, no, we—” Dravaco broke off. “I wanted us to be exclusive. I wanted to see…you know, what it would be like. It wasn’t easy, considering our jobs, but I thought she was worth it.”

Quinlan nodded. “I get it. Jude and I are wired the same way. I understand that Tachi can have Su’um-Va as her primary and still find other people to sleep with, but…I can’t do that. If I’m going to pull out all the stops on getting attached to someone romantically, one person is about all I can handle.”

“Huh.” Dravaco put down the tea. “I wonder how Kenobi feels about such things.”

Quinlan grinned. “Kenobi’s got Jinn, man. I imagine he’s got his hands full.”

That earned him a scowl. “Ah, deliberate innuendo about a Master I happen to respect. Thanks a lot for that, Vos.”

“You’re welcome,” Quinlan said. “So, what happened?”

“She slept with someone else.” Dravaco shrugged. “She confessed when I came to see her during a patch of unexpected leave. I figured that if three months was too long between visits, our relationship probably wasn’t strong enough for any kind of permanent bonding.” His eyes went distant. “She begged me not to. Said she’d do anything I asked.”

Dravaco shook his head. “I didn’t change my mind, and those were the last words I heard her speak. Next thing I knew of her, Nancini’s brother was calling to tell me that she’d been found murdered.”

“That’s harsh. I’m sorry.”

Dravaco rested his arms on his knees. “I can’t change it, and with a Sith on the loose, I can’t afford to wallow. I’m just…I’m grateful, for Jaime. She’s helped a lot, more than she probably realizes.”

“Hey, as long as she doesn’t start shooting you in the balls,” Quinlan offered, and laughed at Dravaco’s glower. “Hey, it’s your reproductive organs you’re risking.”

Dravaco’s lips twitched as the other man tried in vain to suppress a smile. Then he looked up, his attention caught. “Speaking of…”

Quinlan turned his head to see Venge walking into the commissary, in the process of wrapping a strip of cloth around the fingers of his left hand. “Hey, Kenobi. What happened?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when the white bandage started developing dark red spots.

Venge didn’t try to dodge the question, just answered in a tone full of self-disgust. “Had a flashback in the shower. Punched the wall, stumbled back, panicked, and punched the wall again. Not the best start to the day I’ve ever had.”

Quinlan felt ice dance along his spine. It was weird, hearing so much of Obi-Wan in what were undoubtedly Venge’s words.

Dravaco, meanwhile, was looking disconcerted by the sheer amount of red overwhelming the bandage. “Shouldn’t you see the Healers about that?”

“Oh, I will,” Venge said, and smiled. “I just wanted to watch.”

“Watch what?” Dravaco asked, just as Quinlan said, “ _Fuck_!” and threw himself to the side.

It wasn’t fast enough. A sedative needle drove itself into the lowest part of Quinlan’s upper arm. It worked fast, dropping him into a slump—half on the floor, half of him stuck on the chair he’d gotten tangled up in. He was still conscious, at least.

“Well done, Master Kurri.” Venge sounded amused. “You may want to rescue Dravaco, though.”

“Thank you,” Kurri replied. Quinlan heard a body being shifted, accompanied by Dravaco doing his level best to spit curses at the Cerean Master.

Kurri then stepped into Quinlan’s line of sight. “Comm’ssary!” Quinlan slurred at her, trying to glare and failing.

Kurri grinned down at him. “All of the Healers are asleep or engaged elsewhere, which means all bets are off. You should be relieved that Grierseer has yet to realize that.”

Quinlan’s eyes widened. “Ac’dent!”

“Which is the only reason why I’m not telling her of your current location. Have a pleasant rest, gentlemen,” Kurri said. Quinlan watched as she flickered once and disappeared from sight.

“Your only saving grace is that the commissary is at the end of the corridor,” Venge said, giving them a sardonic smile before disappearing as Kurri had.

“R’venge?” Quinlan asked.

“Fuk yesh,” Dravaco slurred back.

 

*          *          *          *

 

[How are you?]

Anakin rubbed his eyes and read the display on his comm again. It still showed the same question. [Well, I was sleeping, and now I’m not] he typed, and glanced at the chrono. He swore and tossed the sheets back. He’d managed to sleep through both of his alarms.

When he checked his comm again, there was another message from his Master. [I realized I had not heard from you since your Council meeting. Thought I would check in.]

Anakin stopped trying to find his pants in the dark and stared down at the glowing message. He wasn’t angry that Venge didn’t contact him afterward, but it had been…kind of disappointing. Apparently, his Master had been granting him space, waiting to see if Anakin needed to reach out instead.

[Why didn’t you ask me about things sooner?]

[Why would I?] Venge countered.

Anakin dithered over the keypad before sending a reply. [Well, you waiting for me to get my head on straight is what a good Master would do, but it’s not really what a good *brother* would do.]

He tossed the comm aside and got dressed, shoving his bare feet into his socks before feeling around under his bed for his boots. Normally, a shower was in order to get his foggy brain in gear, but he, Rillian, and Aayla had done a group spar against Tuuvino, Sia’me, and Shia’nelal the night before. If it had just been lightsabers, it would be an uneven match, but no-holds-barred meant that the younger three Padawans could hold their own. Showering had been mandatory afterwards, if only to make sure he didn’t wake up in an unhappy twist of sore limbs.

The comm chimed again before Anakin was about to palm open the door. He hesitated, and then looked.

[You’re right. I am sorry.]

Anakin chewed on his lower lip, feeling guilty. He was right…and yet, he also wasn’t being fair. His step-brother _was_ his Master, and balancing the two roles, especially right now, was probably not the easiest thing to do. [Next time, just don’t wait so long. Space without leaving me floundering] Anakin sent. [Give me a day and a half of letting me stew before you pull out the Master stuff and kick my ass.]

[You realize that you are not allowed to whinge if I do exactly that.]

Anakin smiled. [There are totally so many other things that can be whinged about.]

The next message felt like a punch to the gut, it was so unexpected. [I am proud of you.]

The shock became a warm feeling that spread out through his chest. His Master was proud of him. It wasn’t really something new, but this was hearing it after Venge had listened to Anakin recount one of the most terrible things he was actually responsible for, and…and…

Dammit. Anakin dashed tears from his eyes. [Thank you, Master.]

[You’re welcome, Anakin.]

 

*          *          *          *

 

The intercom chimed a gentle, musical tone. “Sir, we are approaching Outer Rim Planet Designation: Three-Two-Six-Three-Eight-Two-Seven-Alpha.”

Dooku replied without looking up from his book. “Thank you. You may proceed.”

The intercom did not turn off. “Sir…” His droid pilot hesitated for such a long period of time that Dooku looked up from his research. “Sir, there is no landing beacon for me to respond to.”

“Create a flight path that will take us to the largest continent in the southern hemisphere.” Dooku did not bother to keep the annoyance from his voice. He had left explicit instructions; this interruption of his time was pointless. “When you are in range, you will receive further orders via comm. Reply exactly as I told you.”

“Yes, sir,” the droid answered. It also did not bother to restrain an electronic sigh.

Dooku placed his book into the drawer next to his seat, careful to straighten the old text so that its spine took no further damage before engaging the lock. It was high time to subject the piloting droid to another memory purge, if it was having trouble obeying simple commands.

He removed comfortable traveling clothes and dressed in the dark uniform he was expected to wear when representing his House on Serenno. He frowned at his reflection as he buttoned the long cuff of his right sleeve, creating the crisp line he preferred.

Before doing the same with the left cuff, Dooku ran his fingers from the prominent bone of his wrist to the inside of his elbow. There was no loss of sensation—had not been in several days, but still he felt concern. Much rested on the venture he was undertaking, and he could not afford even the simplest of failures.

With his cape secured into place, Dooku walked into the small cockpit of his ship. The droid’s recitation of their clearance code ended as Dooku sat down next to it.

“We have received permission to land, sir,” the droid said. Unnecessary repetition was irritating, but unavoidable unless he wished to take on the piloting of every journey himself.

“Then do so. Do not speak again unless our circumstances change.”

“Yes, sir.” The droid paused, a brief second of acknowledging that it had not quite obeyed its instructions. Then it began their descent through the world’s turbulent atmosphere.

The area where they landed was acceptable for craft only in that it was flat and marked with small landing lights at four corners. From what Dooku understood, the rest of the complex was far underground.

The swoop touched down without incident. “Leave the systems on stand-by. If all goes well, you will receive instructions on where to move the ship for a more permanent berth.” The droid must have realized that Dooku was at the end of his patience; it responded with a nod, but said nothing.

As the boarding ramp lowered, Dooku touched the lightsaber that hung at his side. If he had done anything more foolish in his distant youth, he could not recall it.

He strode down the ramp, wrapping confidence and distance around himself, as familiar as the hooded robe that he once wore. There was no grass on this gray plateau, windswept and strewn with sand and tiny white pebbles. The stones crunched under his boots as he came out from beneath the sheltering tail of his ship.

A single man was walking across the landing field to meet him. He had blond hair that was waving in the breeze, sparse and thinning as age caught up to him. He was dressed in clothes that looked to be mimicking Dooku’s military cut, which left Dooku unsettled, even if the other man had foregone cape and sigil.

“My friend! I am so pleased to see you.”

The voice was genial, even warm, but still Dooku had to resist the urge to step back. He had enough years behind him to know a predator when he saw one, and his host had made no attempt to restrain the true nature of what lay behind his smile.

Dooku had played this game for many years, and it saved him now, when a misstep would have meant everything. “It was kind of you to invite me,” he said. “I apologize for the delay in my arrival, but your home is far more remote than most.”

Up close, his host was a contrast in appearance. His skin held the elasticity of youth, but was already carved by lines about the eyes and mouth, with especially deep grooves mapping his forehead. His eyes were a light, watery blue—sharp and intelligent, taking note of all and missing nothing. The hair was more pale red than blond, though any hint of color was being lost to the rapid influx of white taking over at the roots.

Dooku was disturbingly reminded of Kenobi. He would have wondered if Sidious had stolen the other man’s genetic profile for his clone bodies, but their features, at least, did not match.

Sidious’s smile grew wider, but there was nothing reassuring in the expression. “Perhaps that is why I have such affection for him. Like does often seek like, after all.”

“Perhaps,” Dooku granted, while carefully taking note of his shields. His public observations were fair game, but his innermost thoughts were _his_.

Sidious nodded, as if in approval. “Come. You should tell me of your most recent visit with your old student.”

Dooku followed along with Sidious, trying to ignore the heavy weight of the Sith Lord’s hand upon his upper arm. It was control masked as casual affection, and burned through the heavy cloth of his tunic. “It is as you surmised during our last meeting. Kenobi and Skywalker will trust me when all of the galaxy’s suns burn out.”

Sidious laughed, a warm sound that was completely at odds with his aura. They stepped over the edge of the landing field and a path appeared before them, one that had been invisible to Dooku’s eyes and the ship’s sensors until his boot came down upon it. “I am not surprised. You once served to drive them quite mad, and such memories will always color their interactions with you.”

“Master Jinn _wants_ to trust me,” Dooku said, and it was not difficult to sound disparaging. Sometimes he despaired of his first Padawan. “But he is being cautious. I am not certain of the young Wookiee. Raallandirr has her species’ trait of wishing to grant fair chances.”

“Hmm.” Sidious halted their steps and nudged a rock with his boot. The ground beneath them began to descend. “Do they suspect you?”

“Of course they do,” Dooku replied. “They would be fools not to, given my actions of the past year.” As the lift descended, darkness swallowed them up. After a few seconds of unrelenting blackness, lights came on, strips embedded in sets of two in each of the four walls.

When he faced Sidious again, the other man’s eyes were a reptilian, pale yellow. There was not yet a glow; Dooku presumed that it was part of the difference between natural corruption and the corrosion of A Drop of Fire.

“That does not mean I left them expecting me to raise a lightsaber against them,” Dooku said, keeping his voice even. It was still a startling thing, to see the Sith beneath the old mask of Palpatine. “I left them with _hope._ ”

Sidious let out a dry, rasping chuckle. That sound, more than anything, revealed the truth of the Sith’s swift aging. The strength of Sidious’s Force presence overwrote each clone body’s original biology, but the Dark energies took a fierce toll. It wasn’t long before each claimed body became weak and useless, strength and vitality destroyed.

The lift stopped with a sharp thump, and then the doorway split apart. The interior beyond was cavernous, with stone that shone black on the walls, but gray everywhere else. “Welcome to the Void, my Apprentice.”

Dooku raised his chin. It was official, then. “Named after the place all Sith fear to go, Master?”

“Not all Sith, my friend,” Sidious answered him. Now his eyes cast their own light, revealing the spiderweb veining that was beginning to mark his skin. “The Void has often sheltered my spirit between bodies. I do not fear the place that provides the means to my own immortality.”

Sidious halted his steps. Dooku did as well. As much as he wanted to visually explore the cavern, he didn’t dare look away from the Sith Lord. “Perhaps I should give you a new name, this time. I don’t believe Tyrannus suits you any longer.”

“Then we shall have to see what name I earn,” Dooku returned. It was somewhat gratifying to see the spark of pleasure in the Sith’s eyes. “Will I be the only apprentice, or will others be vying for your attention?”

For that, he earned another dark chuckle. “You are more bold than my dear, lost Maul. He long suspected that I had another apprentice hidden away. He was correct, but he would not ask for fear of me.

“The Rule of Two is of no further use to the Sith. You will meet Darth Talon when he has completed his latest assignment. For now, it is only the two of you.” Sidious paused. “I value his presence as much as I value yours. Do try not to damage each other.”

Dooku inclined his head. “If this Talon behaves himself, I will, also. If he attacks, I will defend myself. If he dies from it, then he is weak.”

The Sith Lord smiled. “Come. I will show you where you may stay. Tonight you will dine with me.”

Dooku followed along. The cavern gave way to a spacious passage that still felt cramped and claustrophobic after the great stone void. “And what of Vosa?”

Sidious did not turn around. “I know where she and her followers dwell. Once, I had you deal with her insignificant group personally. This time…her attack against Jinn fascinates me. She and the Bando Gora will survive until I have no further use for them.”

“Could she not also be a potential Sith?” Dooku asked. “Komari has ever had difficulty controlling her anger. Perhaps she was always suited to this, and I did nothing more than stifle her true nature.”

Sidious shook his head. “You will soon learn to tell mayhem from potential, my apprentice. For now, do not concern yourself with Vosa and her ilk. When it is time to deal with them, I will tell you.”

_Sidious always tells the truth._

“As you command, my Lord.” Dooku rested his right hand upon his left arm, just above the wrist. It was time to find out just how much there was to learn from Lord Sidious.


End file.
